


memento mori

by seoafin



Series: charm work [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Jealousy, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Mutual Pining, Platonic Relationships, Real slow, Remus Lupin is a Good Friend, Slow Burn, Slytherin Reader, Strong female friendships, Violence, good ol' pureblood rhetoric!, mostly anyway, teenagers being hormonal!!, there's literally a war going on lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seoafin/pseuds/seoafin
Summary: "Don't."Your voice reverberates in the corridor, and the students crowded around you break into a whisper. The boy behind you scurries off.Both boys eye your pointed wand warily.You can faintly register surprise in the depths of those dark eyes. "C'mon don't make us hex you." He coaxes, and you can hear some girls sigh. Then his lips curl into an amused grin. "It's going to hurt.""You can try." You say grimly.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Reader
Series: charm work [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699855
Comments: 14
Kudos: 153





	1. unus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, yeah I started another story, because I am on a harry potter roll and nothing can stop me. I've always loved Sirius, and yes, Regulus will be an important character in the story because I really wanted to write about their relationship and elaborate on more than what we got in the story
> 
> also this is like 100% unedited

**1973 November 2**

**Year 4**

* * *

It's not everyday you get to see a fight between the infamousLily Evans and James Potter. Granted, Lily and James' fights _are_ legendary, and one would have to be rather deaf to not have heard them in the Great Hall during meals⏤ you've just never had the honor of being in the front row seat.

Around you people chatter, awaiting Professor Slughorn and ignoring the two as if it's a common occurrence. It's as if they're in their own world, eyes trained on each other with an intensity that has _you_ looking away awkwardly. You've never seen the popular girl as incensed as when she was hurling insults at a grinning James Potter. Irina swears on her life that Lily Evans is the most amicable girl she's ever met, but it's hard to connect the girl with murderous eyes to the girl Irina says will be a perfect and a shoo-in for head girl.

"—I _have_ a partner!"

An eyebrow shoots up as a smug smile spreads across James' face. "Really?" He looks at the empty seat next to her and makes a show of looking around and watches as people quickly turn away. "You should look into getting glasses, Evans. You might even look better than me, but I highly doub—"

" _Not. Another. Word_."

She scowls, face almost as red as her hair as her gaze darts around the classroom. Now the class has fallen silent, and nobody wants to meet her eyes. At least, until her head swivels around, and the greens of her eyes look exceptionally bright—

Oh. She's looking at _you_.

To make things worse, there _is_ an empty seat next to you. A triumphant smile plays on her face. With an overwhelming feeling of dread spreading over you, she snatches her book off the table and marches over, leaving James at the other side of the room while a black haired boy next to him you recognize as Sirius Black snickers. Behind him is Peter Pettigrew and Remus, who shoots you an exasperated look. Then he raises the book he had been reading so you can see the cover. In his hands is the copy of Frankenstein you had lent him last week.

You like Remus. 

"Hello, I'm Lily." She outstretches her hand and you can't just _not_ take it, so you shake her hand. And the action is so extraordinarily muggle-like that you could be meeting her for the first time at a corner shop just across from your house. She's blended so seamlessly into Hogwarts, that you, and many others, had forgotten that she hadn't grown up surrounded by magic.

You're about to tell her your name, but she interrupts.

"Oh, I know who you are!" You're taken aback, and at your face she hesitates. "I mean, you're muggle born—just like me." There's no hint of hesitation in her words—just pride.

You test the waters. You can feel the eyes of all four boys from across the room on you and you suppose you should feel nervous, but you don't. If anything, you're mildly curious and the momentary distraction. "I didn't realize you kept track of all the muggle borns."

Lily takes this as an invitation to sit as she slides into the seat next to you. "I know a few," she says, pointedly ignoring James who now sports a disappointed look on his face. "But you're the only muggle I know in Slytherin."

You're probably the _only_ muggle in Slytherin. In your year anyway. You know of another muggle girl a few years above you— a mousy girl that keeps her head down like you. And you're not surprised. Slytherin is for the pure bloods, a fact that everybody knows. You recall one of your housemates gripe about how every year, fewer and fewer (especially muggle) students seem to come back. They're scared, and rightfully so. Outside, a war brewing, and it's an unspoken fact that the muggles are to be the first casualties.

You shrug. "Brings more trouble than anything." As if in response to that statement, your right hand throbs from where Josephine Havers had jinxed your hand to the size of a small balloon a couple days back. The ensuing size had you in Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing and out with a warning that if you were back again within the month that she would have to "consult Horace" and give him a good tongue lashing on why one particular student in his house had to constantly visit the wing more than all his students combined.

There was also the time Madam Pomfrey forced you to drink a dark yellow concoction that had tasted of mud (you could've sworn there was gravel in it) to cure the blistering boils on your right leg curtesy of Isabella Lloyd, and you grimace at the memory. You're no ace at potions but you were pretty sure it tasted even worse than usual.

She especially didn't seem keen on your "accident during potions" excuse which had been recycled too many times to count. You really should think of a new one soon... 

However, if there was one upside to your constant trips to the wing, it was that you were now practically an expert at mending broken bones and counter curses. A majority of the injuries you sustained were easily taken care of now, with no need to witness the way Madame Pomfrey's narrowed eyes of suspicion roved over your body as if you were hiding another injury.

She wants to ask you something, you can tell, but decides against it just as Professor Slughorn briskly strides into the room.

When his eyes land on Lily, he erupts into a smile.

Well, if there was anything to be gained from possibly making an enemy of one of the most popular boys in your year, at least now you were paired with a potions expert.

* * *

You race outside behind the school, down towards Hagrid's hut. Speaking of Hagrid, you should probably visit. You haven't been down for tea in a while, and he's always been one of the few people that had been kind to you from the start. You enjoyed the man's company so much, you didn't even mind the fact that one his cakes had chipped a part of your tooth off.

Care of Magical Creatures has already started, but you're not too late. The class is gathered around Professor Kettleburn and you can see something small, fluffy and black in his hands. As you sidle up to Irina, you're panting. She spares you a quick glance and grins.

"We're learning about nifflers today!" She says in a hushed tone, eyes trained on Professor Kettleburn holding a niffler upside down and giving it a good shake. You can hear your classmates' murmurs as dozens of gold objects fall out of its pouch while it chitters unhappily, short arms shooting out to grab as many falling items as it can while it attempts to stuff it back into it's pouch in vain. The comical sight has you feeling exponentially better.

You rather like Professor Kettleburn: an odd man missing one too many limbs. And despite the fact that he seems more excited at the prospect of dangerous creatures than he should, he's enthusiastic, and his love for magical creatures is apparent.

"I've always wanted one." Irina says, eyes trained on the sight. "I remember asking mum for one when I was six or seven— I was _obsessed_ with Newt Scamand—what happened to your face?"

You automatically bring a hand up to your cheek and feel something wet. You frown, looking at the blood on your hands. "Is it still bleeding?" It's a thin cut. You had just narrowly escaped a full body bind curse, and in your escape, you must have missed the cut on your cheek.

"Not badly. Here." Drawing her wand she taps lightly on your cheek and mutters a spell. You can feel the wound closing, much to your relief.

Then your one and only friend at Hogwarts frowns and disapproval is written all over her face. "Were they at it again?"

"It wasn't that bad."

She frowns. "Yeah, _this_ time." Before she can say anything else, Professor Kettleburn eyes you two and she falls silent.

When the class separates into pairs, you and Irina receive a niffler with the goal of trying to successfully hide a galleon from it until the end of class. The two of you opt to hide it in Irina's shoe. With it's long snout and beady eyes, it's alarmingly cute and you have to resist the urge to pet it as it circles around you curiously.

A shriek comes to your left and you see a niffler clutching at a necklace with it's paws around a Ravenclaw girl's neck and tugging while her partner tries not to laugh.

Professor Kettleburn roars with laughter. "Pesky little creatures, aren't they? Don't be fooled! They'll steal everything of worth in your homes from right under your noses!" He sighs fondly. You wonder if the rumors of him having twelve nifflers are true, and decide that yes, this eccentric man would undoubtedly have twelve nifflers, perhaps even more.

You study the creature on the ground and it stares at you back, head tilted. You think you wouldn't mind being a Magizoologist. Spending the rest of your life surrounded by magical creatures doesn't sound bad at all. In fact, you think you'd actually be happy not having to worry about or deal with the complications that come along with...well, interacting with _people_.

"What happened?" Irina says, pointedly looking at your cheek where the cut had been.

"The usual." You shrug, meeting her eyes. "It wasn't that bad."

She rolls her eyes and frustration rolls off her in waves at your blasé response. You know it stems from concern, but there's nothing to do now anyway. All you can do is forget it and move on, lest you want a repeat of last year when Irina had angrily confronted Josephine, Isabella, and Emmaline—the main perpetrators of all your miserable and often painful memories at Hogwarts. It ended with the three girls in the infirmary, fifty points deducted from Slytherin, detention for a month (all five of you), and the Slytherins staring daggers at you every time you entered the common room for losing house points.

The bullying was more of a... mild annoyance now. Like a mosquito that only comes back for more, no matter how many times you swat at it. You found that you could simply tune out their taunts calling you a mudblood (because what else could they say?) and avoid empty corridors. And on the run from the "three stooges" as Irina had dubbed them, you had encountered secret passages and magic doors around the castle which were always a pleasure to explore.

"You _always_ say that." She complains. "You could at least hex them back! Remember last year?" She grins wickedly at the memory of you adeptly deflecting the curses that had shot out of three wands. After that you had flung them all up into the air and muttered a jinx that made large warts grow all over their faces.

Irina was of the opinion that you should've gone with something more permanent and painful. 

You regretted it later when you later saw Flitwick's disappointed expression as your detention had been helping him charm Christmas decorations. You should've disarmed them. Expelliarmus would've done the trick. It would've been the right thing to do, but unfortunately, you had been feeling rather vindictive as soon as they had called Irina a blood traitor.

After that whole fiasco the three girls had left you alone. It lasted a memorable two months before they realized that you weren't one to fight back when alone, and had soon reverted to their old ways.

"You know I'd pay good money to see that Isabella Lloyd choke on her big fat tongue." A dreamy smile spreads over her face at imaginary scenario. You let out a huff of laughter, and she goes on. "I know you can do it too, but you _won't_." A mock glare.

"Irina, you know I'm not going to fight back. House points will be taken, and I don't need to give anybody else a reason to hate me more." You fix her with a stern look, well, as best as you can anyway. "I'm just glad I didn't need to go to hospital wing this time." You mutter, staring at the niffler in front of you that has decided to go searching for gold in the grass.

This she snorts at. "I bet you'd take a bloody bat bogey hex over going to hospital wing one more time this month. Last time I brought you in, I'm not sure whether Madam Pomfrey wanted to fix you or throttle you."

You wince.

Irina turns to you, and worried gleam in her crystal clear blue eyes is back. "D'you wanna stay with me tonight?" It's obvious she thinks that you might be attacked again, and you wouldn't put it past the three stooges to mount another sneak attack because you had managed to slip away from them earlier in the day.

Your spirits lift a little more. The Ravenclaw common room is a dream, and it's no surprise that you prefer the arching ceiling that glitters with stars and large windows overlooking the school over the cold, drafty dungeon of your own common room perpetually basked in that peculiar green light.

"Count me in." You reply with a small smile and Irina beams.

As long as you were out of the dormitory at dawn before everybody woke, nobody was none the wiser. All it took was an easy enough invisibility spell you had mastered last year. The first time Irina had invited you over she had waved away your worries by telling you about the upperclassman sneaking in and out of their boyfriends' dormitories. 

Luckily, Irina's roommates were kind and understanding of your situation. While wary at first, they warmed up to you as soon as Irina had told them you were a favorite of their head of house, Professor Flitwick. They were especially impressed when she had told them of your advanced one-on-one charms lessons, insisting you demonstrate what you had learned every time you stayed over. You had come to find out that many Ravenclaws respected anybody with a drive to learn, regardless of blood. Most of them anyway. After all, there were outliers in all houses.

Your own roommates weren't, well, _bad_. They weren't pure bloods to your knowledge, but apparently they had enough magical blood that they remained unscathed by the prejudice that was so prevalent in your house. They kept to themselves for the most part and you rarely talked to them because you often returned to your dormitory late at night, sneaking in past curfew when everybody was already asleep.

The dangerous part was that anybody had access to your belongings and bed, and after your jinxed bedsheets had tried to strangle you last year, you had spent at least a hour every night trying to uncover any spells that might have been cast on anything from your bed to books.

Irina's smile turns mischievous, eyes sparkling in a way that makes boys stare when they pass. "I'm so excited! We can talk about Hilda's crush on Sirius Bl— _ack_!"

The niffler swipes at her shoes and she jumps back, but the niffler stays glued to her shoes, spurred by the excitement of another gold coin to add to its collection. It chitters indignantly as Irina lifts her leg above the reach of the small creature. You can't help it when you reach into your robes and pull out a spare knut, murmur a quick spell that has it turning gold for only a few hours and kneel down. The niffler's eyes light up and it snatches the coin so quickly that all you see is a blur as Irina bursts into laughter, the sound attracting several longing glances from the boys in the class.

"After all that time you spent with that hat on you, it's a shame you weren't sorted into Ravenclaw..." Irina muses as Professor Kettleburn calls for the class to round up the nifflers, promising extra points to anyone who had managed to keep their galleon away from their niffler's greedy paws.

You think back to your sorting. When you had first entered the Great Hall, you had been in awe. Thousands of floating candles illuminated the large room while the ceiling reflected the night sky. There were four long tables seating conversing students. You had never seen anything like it in your life, and you could've sworn you had seen transparent ghosts swooping over the students. Even more, you felt out of place, a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit, among these happy students at complete ease among what would be completely incomprehensible to a muggle like you.

It was difficult being a room with so many people, and their emotions had made your skin buzz so intensely that you were lightheaded.

When you were called up as one of the last students to be sorted, it took everything in you to walk straight and not topple over. That would have definitely made you the school's laughingstock. At the last moment, you caught Dumbledore's kind gaze, and he had given you an almost imperceptible nod.

Those exceptionally long five minutes you spent on that stool with hundreds of eyes staring right at you had sealed your fate.

_Ravenclaw or Slytherin? You wouldn't make a bad Gryffindor either....in fact—you have the makings of a great Gryffindor—_

_Oh—well this changes everything! Cunning....ambitious...brave... h_ _mm...how odd, very odd...you'd be the first but—maybe....better be safe than sorry—_

**"SLYTHERIN!"**

The hat had been talking extraordinarily fast, as if it's mouth couldn't keep up with both it's thoughts and yours. Somehow, you knew the feeling.

Later, you had been told, after the first years had been ushered into the common room, that you had been what many called a "hatstall" by an excited Professor Slughorn who looked at you like he was summing up the endless possibilities of your meager existence. You had been the first hatstall in many, many years. 

Maybe that had been why Lily had recognized you. After all, you had been sitting on that stool for so long that even Professor McGonagall's eyebrows had been creased with worry as she started towards you. Students had begun to whisper, but then the hat finally bellowed out the name of your house.

You don't remember Irina's sorting. The two of you had only met in your second year, after Irina had stayed after class to ask Professor Flitwick a question right before your lessons. Was it quick or did it require a moment's contemplation?

"I don't remember your sorting." You tell her, as the two of you start up the hill and into the castle, towards the Great Hall.

Irina brightens. "Oh, my sorting was—er...unique." She recounts with a chuckle. "The hat wanted to put me in Hufflepuff but I demanded Ravenclaw." At your confusion, she elaborates. "My parents were both Ravenclaw. It's where they met, and I always thought it was wonderfully romantic. So the hat and I argued for a minute and then I think it grew tired of hearing my voice." She mimics the hat's voice. " _Hmph! Have it your way then! Ravenclaw it is!_ "

You shake your head with a smile. Trust Irina to argue with a magical hat to get her way. You'd expect nothing less. Although, you did think that the hat might've changed it's mind once it had heard her, because you were sure Irina would have come prepared with a flawless defense as to why she should be sorted into a specific house.

You always thought she was a shining example of a Ravenclaw, so the hat couldn't have placed her there only out of mere irritation.

Then you pause. "Do you think choice is a factor?"

Would you have still gone into Slytherin if you had had a choice? You didn't even know about the sorting ceremony until you had been on a boat with a couple other eager students, sailing across the lake while they had chattered about what house they thought they'd be in. 

"Maybe," she says thoughtfully and you can see the wheels in her head turning. "I'd reckon it's a mixture of who you are and what you want to accomplish. And I don't think you willingly chose Slytherin. The two of you join a crowd of students in the corridor and you can see the large doors. The two of you press close together to avoid being trampled. Irina looks troubled. "Now that I think of it, why _were_ you placed in Slytherin? You're nothing like them at all!"

"You're asking me." You didn't think there was any point dwelling on the past, but on sleepless nights you couldn't help but wonder why the sorting hat had deemed you compatible with a house that despised the very thing you were. Maybe the hat only looked at character traits—but you had read that Salazar himself thought that muggles should be barred from Hogwarts, so that couldn't be it either.

As the two of you enter the Great Hall, you realize that you forgot to tell Irina about your encounter with the famous Lily Evans, but the amount of students in the Great Hall make your eyes blur as you're assaulted with hundreds of different noises invading your head, ricocheting louder and louder. This combined with the actual noise takes you a moment to calm down, and block out the persistent noise as it slowly fades enough that you can hear yourself think.

There was a reason you usually avoided the Great Hall, preferring to sneak down to the kitchens at night and ask one of the kind house elves for food instead.

By the time you finish, the thought completely leaves your mind, as Irina has slipped her arm into yours, and tugs you towards the Ravenclaw table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so basically, you can think of the other stories in this series as a prototype of sorts. "night, I don't sleep" is sort of the rough draft that i wrote simply because I wanted to write something. you can think of it as a chapter that I cut from the story because i probably won't be including any official order of the phoenix business while the rea is still in school anyway.
> 
> I'll probably be adding to the series as I write scenes that I don't necessarily fit in this story, but could take place with the same reader.
> 
> I hope to post the next chapter next week (after I finish the two other HP stories I have in the works that involve my favs George and Charlie Weasley)
> 
> hmu @ my tumblr [here!](http://seoafin.tumblr.com)


	2. duo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm honestly not going to sugarcoat it. but i hand to god hated the marauders and i was just as crestfallen as Harry when I read about how the marauders were bullies. i really did hate it. it's also why i wanted to start this fic and kinda flesh it out the marauder era more 
> 
> coming off that, i'm forever upset that JKR didn't feel it necessary to elaborate on how James went from bully to lily evans' boyfriend. give me that character development!! although idk how to feel about James going back behind lily's back to bully snape like uh—

**But you know you saved me from doin'**   
**Something to myself that night**

**It's been so long**   
**And you've been my sister all along**   
**But you know I'll be alright**

—clairo (alewife)

* * *

**1973 december 18**

**year 4**

"There it is!"

A single book flies out a stack with a wave of Professor Flitwick's wand, and it slides right into your outstretched hands. He taps on the book with his wand excitedly. "Advanced N.E.W.T level charms!" You look at the worn cover of the bookand look back up to your professor.

"Are these—?"

"Nonverbal spells!" He squeaks, nodding enthusiastically, and you're worried his glasses might fly right off his face. He looks at you sternly. "I rather hope I don't need to remind you that the usage of these spells outside of the classroom is—"

"Strictly prohibited." You finish, and you can feel your lips curving, excited at the prospect of both new reading material and extra charms to practice. You had no idea you had progressed far enough to start on nonverbal spells. It only seemed like yesterday you were practicing incendio which had accidentally lit Professor Flitwick's desk on fire.

You tuck the book into your bag. "Thank you Professor."

"Of course, my dear!" He says with a shake of his hand. "You know I always welcome students eager to learn!" Then he sighs, jumping to the floor. "If only those two troublemaker students of mine Potter and Black would follow your example..."

You don't need to say anything, because the small man begins to recounts the mess yesterday when James Potter and Sirius Black had decided to, instead of practice the Banishing Spell on pillows as instructed, decided to banish Brody Kilmer right into the window, earning him a bloody nose and a trip to the Madam Pomfrey and detention for the two.

Flitwick chuckles, then as if catching himself, clears his throat, but there's still a fond smile on his face. "Forgive me for keeping you, now onto lunch you go!"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Professor."

You leave the classroom and eventually reach the courtyard where you weave in and out of the chattering students on their way to lunch. Although the skies are gray and cloudy, the weather's oddly nice today compared to the rain and mud present the entire week. You heard from Irina that watching quidditch in the rain was terrible, but you wouldn't know—the first and only quidditch game you had ever gone to was in your second year. It was match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor and if memory serves you right Gryffindor had won.

Your bag at your side is heavy, filled the to brim with homework and assignments you decided to finish ahead of time. You figure you'll grab a muffin or something quick before you go to the library to delve into your work.

Halfway through the entrance hall, you hear someone call your name. There's not many people you're on a first name basis with so you already know who it is when you turn. Remus greets you with a small wave. 

"Hi Remus."

"Hi," he greets back, beaming and slightly out of breath. "I finished this." He rifles through his book bag and holds out the copy of Frankenstein you had lent him. 

Smiling, you take it, and stuff it into your bag, as the two of you continue your walk to the Great Hall. "How'd you like it?"

"It was fascinating—I enjoyed it very much. I personally thought the monster was..." He trails off, and you watch as a somber look flits across his face.

"Tragic?" You offer, glad to have a friend that also enjoys muggle literature. You had met Remus your second year in defense against dark arts. The marauders had been forcibly split, and Remus had ended up in the empty seat next to you. 

He nods. "Alone in the world with nobody he to rely on...living in fear and loneliness—" He catches himself, and red streaks across his face. "It was very enjoyable. Thank you for lending it to me."

"Of course, I can lend you Dracula next."

"Dracula?"

"A famous muggle story about a vampire."

His interest looks piqued. "I didn't realize muggles were aware of the existence of vampires."

"Well—"

Irina bounds over, slinging an arm over your shoulder. ""I'm going to _kill—_ hullo Remus!"

Remus smiles. "It's nice to see you, Irina."

You look at her. "Kinsley?"

Irina scowls, and the look is so fierce that few students eye her warily as they make sure to keep out of her way.

"You wouldn't believe her _nerve_! In transfiguration she..."

* * *

"D'you reckon Moony fancies her?"

Sirius pauses from next to him, in midst of his sentence of telling Peter about their most recent detention polishing Flitwick's dueling trophies by hand at James' inquiry.

"Moony? Fancy a girl?" He chuckles. "Maybe if the bloke weren't so worried about his, _furry_ _condition_ all the time."

James grins at him knowingly.

"Condition?" Peter says, brows furrowing. "Oh!"

Both boys roll their eyes. Then Sirius looks at you. Your face is slightly turned towards Remus, and try as he might to place you, you don't look even remotely familiar.

"She—she was that hatstall wasn't she?" Peter pipes up hesitantly.

James snaps his fingers. "Right!" He exclaims, loudly enough that a few passerby faces snap to him, some curiously, some warily. "She's that muggle in Slytherin! I thought she looked somewhat familiar."

Peter squeaks. "S-Slytherin? I thought she was in Ravenclaw—"

"Come off it Wormtail!" James interjects exasperatedly. "We don't have potions with the Ravenclaws do we?"

That has Sirius's attention. A muggle in Slytherin. How ironic. He eyes you curiously, the vitriol that usually seizes him at the mention of any Slytherin is replaced by open curiosity, some morbid fascination that has him scrutinizing what remarkable quality about you could have put you into a nasty, bigoted house like Slytherin.

Merlin, he doesn't even remember the sorting ceremony. Just the rush of elation and adrenaline in his veins sitting at the Gryffindor table, far away from the greens of the Slytherin table and Lucius Malfoy who looked personally affronted.

Your usually impassive face is animated, and if he squints, he thinks he can even make out a small smile as you talk to Remus about something that would undoubtedly bore him to tears. Some may say you look cold, perfunctory, but the warmth in your eyes is unmistakeable. 

"Stare at her longer, why don't you?"

He tears his gaze off of you, turning towards James' smirking face. "Apologies Prongs," he says dryly. "Must have dozed off. Not everybody wants to hear you wax poetic about Evans' eyes. It gets dull after the third time, you know."

James sputters indignantly, red streaks against his face. Sirius and Peter snicker.

The three watch as Irina Fairweather skips over and slings an arm around your shoulder, greeting Remus in the process. Then she begins angrily gesturing.

James clears his throat. "Well, I reckon she can't be bad as the rest of the lot if she's friends with Fairweather—I heard she sent Mulciber to the hospital wing last year for looking in her direction." He says, pleased.

Sirius thinks of Regulus, and his mood sours. His pathetic, naive brother, with those dark eyes so like his own full of loathing, parroting the same pure blood prattle he heard daily from his parents, calling him a mistake, a stain on the family reputation.

In the year he had been at Hogwarts, relishing his freedom, his brother had become a stranger whose interests involved the dark arts and blood supremacy. 

"Just what he deserves." He replies darkly. If it were up to him, he'd let them all rot. "Fanatics, the load of them."

James has the good sense not to press further. 

* * *

"This is so exciting!"

Irina's eyes dart around the empty, moonlit corridors of Hogwarts as if expecting Professor McGonagall to appear at any given second, ready to deduct points for staying out past curfew. The Gryffindor head was already an intimidating sight without the threat of detention, but you were starving. And by the time you had finished studying Astronomy with Irina, dinner had been over so you two decided to go to sneak to the kitchens.

You did know how to cast a handy invisibility spell if in trouble, so there was that.

"You've snuck out yourself before." You point out, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but it's much more enjoyable sneaking out with a _friend_." She winks at you. "Twice the fun if we get caught."

You're glad the darkness obscures your face, because it feels warm.

It's nice to have a friend, you think. You had been fine alone until you had Irina, and now you couldn't imagine life without her presence.

One day you were at Hogwarts, alone, roaming the corridors, marveling at the paintings and ghosts and goblets that refilled themselves magically, and then there was Irina and her sardonic commentary right by your side and that had been that.

Your quiet footsteps echo softly as the two of you talk about your upcoming O.W.L.s’.

Hogwarts at night is quite a sight. To you, the castle is never more awake than when everybody is asleep. In daylight, the castle seems almost mundane in comparison, contrary to the magical happenings happening inside. As the two of you trek down empty corridors, spiraling staircases, and avoid missing steps, you take a moment to admire the architecture and enjoy the peace. 

The path you're taking is a longer one, but less known. You had discovered it when you had been avoiding Josephine and Isabella. A painting of a four ladies gathered around a wooden circular table had beckoned you over, laughing, only for the portrait to swing open. Inside had been a long winding staircase that connected to the Gryffindor Tower.

You know that Filch will be too busy roaming the main entrances, so you only need to worry about Peeves and Mrs. Norris which was easy enough as long as you were quiet.

A couple more minutes of walking quietly and sticking to the darkness, and then you're walking down the stairs that lead to the Hufflepuff common room and kitchen and you enter a broad stone corridor. You can see the piled barrels in the far right side corner as the two of you walk to the painting of a bowl of fruit.

Irina reaches forward and tickles the pear. A few seconds is all it takes. The pear emits a high pitched giggle as it squirms and morphs into a green doorknob.

She gestures to the door in an 'after you' motion with a grin. You pull open the door and the two of you step into a large room the size of the Great Hall with its high ceilings and four empty tables and the usual pots and pans lining the room. The house elves who had been bustling around just a moment prior freeze at your entrance before bursting into cheers as they rush towards you.

One familiar voice separates the elf from the others.

"Miss! Miss! Bluey has missed Miss!" A squeaky voice says and you look down at your favorite and the first house elf you had ever met in your second year.

You smile and crouch down to meet Bluey's large blue eyes. You can hear Irina greeting the other house elves in the background."Hi Bluey, it's been a while. Have you been well?"

Bluey nods so eagerly her large, elongated ears flap. A toothy grin. "Bluey is well Miss! Bluey has been waiting for Miss to visit!" She squeaks out and you feel a stab of guilt. You should've visited earlier, but you had been so engrossed in your classes that it had slipped your mind. The last thing you'd wanted is for Bluey (and the house elves) to feel used, although you knew it wouldn't be taken that way.

In your first two years as you learned to navigate the do's and do not's of the magical world, you had read about the kitchen and the house elves in Hogwarts: a History. Although the idea of house elves and its similarities to slavery left a pit in your stomach, you had been both curious and lonely enough to venture into the basement one day and the rest was history.

You found out that house elves made for interesting and good conversation—as long as you didn't accidentally imply that they would be better off freed from their servitude, a mistake that had earned your horrified stares and several affirmations that _freedom_ would be worse than dying. 

"Is Miss hungry? Bluey can prepare Miss' favorite!"

"It's fine," you say, prying yourself out of your reverie. You'd hate to pile on more work to their plates. "I'd be fine with leftovers from the dinner."

Bluey's eyes go wide. "Oh you mustn't Miss! Bluey would be most pleased to make Miss's—"

"Don't worry about it Bluey!" Irina says striding over, smiling sheepishly at you with more food than you think you could finish. "We've got plenty!"

To lighten the load, you stand and take a few creampuffs from Irina and turn back to Bluey. "This is more than enough."

The house elf looks uncertain. "If Miss is sure..."

You nod. "I'm sure." Then to the other house elves, whose names you promise to learn: "Thank you for the food."

A sea of heads bob up and down along with a chorus of "Our pleasure!"

You wish you could somehow give them something for their hard work without offending them. You weren't sure on house elf etiquette but maybe you could knit something? Something basic like a scarf. Christmas wasn't too far away...

"It was nice to see you Bluey. I'll come again soon—promise." 

You expected something along the lines of 'Bluey is not worthy of a promise!' but instead what comes is a shy smile. "Bluey will be awaiting Miss!"

Warmth unfurls inside you, and you feel happy. It doesn't matter that your fingers had been jinxed shut this morning, or that the Slytherin common room fell quiet more often than not with your arrival.

Maybe you weren't the best at making friends, but the two you had were enough. 

The house elves wave goodbye and soon you and Irina are walking back up to the Ravenclaw tower, carrying your kitchen haul. Irina is unusually silent, nose slightly scrunched in that way you know she's thinking hard.

"You know, you're the only one I know that speaks to house elves like that."

You look at her curiously.

She shrugs, and a patch of moonlight that shines through the windows turns her hair white and illuminates her face, making her look otherworldly beautiful. "We have house elves at home, but I don't...I don't think I've ever seen them around." She frowns down at the food in her arms. "Or thanked them."

From what you knew Irina was a pureblood, and in her words: inbred.

_"My grandparents... I've never asked—I've been too afraid of the answer."_

"Even my mum—" Irina breaks off, shifting uncomfortably. Irina's mother, to your knowledge had pioneered pro-muggle laws in the ministry, some of which had been implemented. A fact that didn't make Irina popular with the Slytherins. Unluckily for them, Irina was the type to hit back twice as hard. "She—she's so used to them she treats them like they're... _invisible_ , so I don't think I ever bothered..."

She sneaks a glance at you, and you can tell that she's embarrassed.

"Better late than never." You say as encouragingly as possible. "I'm sure they'll be delighted to know you appreciate their work."

She shoots you an appreciative smile, shoulders sagging with relief. "I will. I'm glad you think so. I—I thought you'd treat me differently if you knew how horrid I'd been."

And now you're embarrassed. "You haven't been horrid. You just didn't know better." You lick your dry lips. "And if it helps, you're one of the best people I know." You say, face red. You're not good at heart to hearts, so you hope it sounds as sincere as you feel. "Well, not that I know many people." You say hurriedly. "Er—I meant—"

But Irina is beaming at you so you return it with a grin.

You're nearing the end of the hall, when you say, "And if I'm being honest, I've always thought myself that it seemed rather...inhumane keeping house elves."

You were a muggle who had no idea that magic had existed until Professor Dumbledore had knocked on your front door the day you had turned eleven. It somehow seemed wrong to voice your opinion in a world you weren't even fully a part of, but suffering was something you understood, no matter the cultural differences. 

Irina nods resolutely, and her face turns grave. "There are a lot of horror stories, especially with pure blood families." Her voice goes conspiratorially low. "I've heard the Blacks behead their house elves when they grow too old."

You stare at her, horrified. "What?"

You couldn't imagine beheading poor Bluey who had always been nothing but kind to you. Or any of the house elves for that matter.

And Black? You had seen Regulus Black in the common room, but it wasn't as if you hung around. But the Black family _are_ one of the loudest supporters of pure blood supremacy so you suppose chopping off the heads of useless house elves seems right within reason.

"That's—"

Goosebumps trail down your spine and your head whips around to the middle of the corridor, where there's a portrait of a sleeping nymph hung, curled up beneath the base of a tree. There's nothing there, but you could've sworn—

"What's wrong?" Irina asks, following your gaze to the portrait. "Did you hear something?"

More like felt something. It was the undeniable feeling of being watched. You stare for a few more seconds and then shrug it off. It must have been one of the other paintings.

"Nothing." You say finally. "It was nothing."

Suddenly, a yowl sounds from the end of the corridor in front of you and the both of you freeze. A large feline shadow grows larger and larger.

Irina swears. "That damn cat."

You spring to action, shoving the food in your arms back to Irina and pulling out your wand from your robes. With a flick and a quick mutter, Irina turns transparent. If you concentrated long and hard enough, you'd see a slight distortion of air where Irina is standing, but other than that you've outdone yourself. After all, as Professor Flitwick said, it was nearly impossible to replicate—say, an invisibility cloak, which were rare enough.

Just as you turn invisible, Mrs. Norris strides in, her eyes glowing in the dark as she prowls the hall in search of any rule breaking students just like her master. 

It's a few minutes of heart pounding silence, and you swear those red eyes look you straight in the face. Your heart plummets into your stomach.

Then Mrs. Norris turns and stalks away. You wait a couple more minutes, and when Filch doesn't run in, lantern illuminating his pouchy face, you can finally exhale.

When you and Irina are restored, she stares at her hand as if she were still invisible. "Blimey—when'd you learn that?" Her eyes are wide. "That was better than any invisibility spell I've casted."

You send her a dry look. “Remember when Narcissa Black hexed me towards the end of second year for breathing the same air as her?”

“I remember that.” She scowls. “You were in the infirmary for a week! The slag!"

Your hand tingles at the reminder. "C'mon. We should go before Mrs. Norris comes back around, or worse. Filch." You say grimly.

At the mention of the cat, Irina glares at the spot where the cat had been. "Oh, I should've kicked her." She mutters and you roll your eyes.

Irina had long held a grudge against the ugly cat. Mrs. Norris seemed to know Irina by scent, and trying to sneak out and around the different common rooms of her different boyfriends was a difficult endeavor considering the cat had gotten her caught by Filch four times by now.

You cast one lingering look at the nymph painting, before turning on your heels and starting up the staircase leading to Ravenclaw Tower.

"You have to teach me that." Irina says, and there's a humorous glint in her eyes. "Purely for educational purposes of course." 

Forgetting to be quiet, the both of you laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ignoring JKR's really really bad take on house elves lmao, i really hated how everyone kinda?? made fun of SPEW and Hermione for speaking out about house elf abuse and how the series just brushed over it and treated it like a joke.  
> and rereading it years later I hated how Harry AND Ron were kinda like...haha yeah we'll entertain it for you hermione we don't wanna hurt your feelings and there was no resolution at all.
> 
> but one thing I also hated was how righteous hermione was, the whole "they don't know better!!" just...was not right. but i'll give it to her considering she was what? 14?
> 
> also i am very very enthusiastic about healthy platonic female friendships (aka we need more representation in media) so yeah Sirius may eventually be the love of your life but irina will always be ur first :)
> 
> anyway, the story to make up for the fact that Sirius won't be in the next chapter I'll tell you that regulus is!!
> 
> leave reviews pls...they really do give me motivation LOL
> 
> hmu @ my tumblr [here!](http://seoafin.tumblr.com)


	3. trēs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the reason why this chapter took so long was bc i was working out a few plot details. i changed one paragraph from the first chapter and a line from the second talking about the war because i introduce it in this chapter. i'll explain more down in the second notes!

**“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.”**

― Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, _Frankenstein_

* * *

**may 13th, 1973**

**year 4**

_The water is frigid, biting at your skin as you frantically pull at the chains encircling your ankle, the tail end disappearing into the dark murky depths of the ocean. Your heart beats frantically, and blood roars to your ears as you lose oxygen._

_You're drowning_

_Your vision turns blurry, and panic claws at you. Deep down, a loud rumbling bellow turns your blood cold and makes your teeth rattle. The chains give a sudden lurch, and you're pulled down in a short jerk._

_Bubbles escape your mouth as you desperately try to escape, but you're losing the battle with your consciousness when you're pulled down by the chain,_

_deeper, deeper, deeper—_

_The last thing you see is the last vestiges of the light from above the surface illuminating the water above you before you sink into the darkness._

You gasp as you bolt upwards, sweating. The furious pounding of your heart roars to your ears, pulse racing so hard that you're lightheaded. You force yourself to breathe, your hands clutching your cover as you try to steady yourself, the chill of the water sending shivers down your spine.

For a few seconds, you stare at the stone walls of your dormitory. Light green light fills the room from the high windows encircling the room, and depending on the shade of green you can usually decipher the time. From what you can tell, it seems to be just bright enough that your dorm mates must be waking up soon.

"Nightmare?"

Your head snaps to your right, and you meet the brown of Eva's eyes looking at you curiously from her bed. The curtains are drawn away so you can see her lying down. A worn book is splayed out in half on her chest—a divination textbook.

You stare at her blankly, taken aback. Had her voice been a figment of your imagination? You don't remember the last time you had spoken to one of your dorm mates other than the usual polite greetings. Conversations tended to be courteous and never longer than necessary.

She raises an eyebrow at your silence.

You find your voice. "Was I loud?"

She shrugs, picking up her textbook. "Not really."

The thought of being watched, especially while vulnerable, is disconcerting. You throw off your covers and slip out of bed to get ready for the morning because the thought of going back to sleep makes your stomach curl. Your nightmares had been reoccurring with more and more frequency, and you couldn't help but feel it was an ill omen of sorts. You could chalk it up to the fact that the school year was ending, and your mind had yet to believe that you didn't have to go home anymore, that your mind was only bracing itself to return.

You haven't gone home in two years. 

Glancing at your haggard reflection in the mirror of the bathroom, you let out a deep breath. You didn't have to go home, back to that dilapidated house full of unpleasant memories and a father who hated your existence.

It was only a bad nightmare.

* * *

You get along with Lily Evans surprisingly well.

There's a lyrical quality to her voice that eases you into light conversation that you would have found difficult with anybody else, and she's very smart. You're not starving for intellectual discourse because Irina fills that gap in your life quite nicely, but it's nice to talk to someone else for a change. 

You also find out that you share defense against dark arts, Arithmancy, and Study of Ancient Runes together, which is news to you. You kept to yourself in most classes. It wasn't as if you had anybody to talk to, but you didn't mind as much. It meant there were less distractions to learn about things you would have never even dreamed about. It was your fourth year at Hogwarts and you still found yourself staring at the talking paintings and ghosts that roamed the halls.

"Counter clockwise." Lily points out, without raising her eyes from the textbook in front of her just as you're about to stir in the wrong direction.

You freeze, then start to stir in the opposite direction. "Oh—thanks."

The calming drought turns light blue as you stir, although not as light as Lily's who had already finished, her vial securely corked and tucked into a tube rack, and was reading her potions textbook. For fun.

You think you'll get along with Lily Evans just fine.

A tendril of smoke swirls from your cauldron, and all you need now is to add the chopped up lavender.

In midst of dicing the lavender, your knife slices through your index finger. The thin cut wells up with blood, spilling over the lavender. Dread fills you as you stare at the cut. Another bad omen. You weren't usually the superstitious type, but the sense of foreboding was too strong for you to ignore. Something was coming, and you didn't know what. And nothing was as unpleasant to you as being kept in the dark. 

It felt as if your peaceful existence was about to be upturned. 

"Are you alright?" Lily's voice snaps you out of your stupor.

"It's nothing." You grab your wand and place it on the tip of your finger, murmur a spell. The cut closes neatly, and the only evidence of the cut is the blood, so you point your wand at the mess and the diced lavender is bloodless. 

She looks impressed.

"Hello girls!" Professor Slughorn says cheerily as he approaches the two of you. "Just checking in—not that you need it Lily my dear girl!" He chuckles heartily. "Already done, I see."

"With time to spare!" Lily replies cheekily.

Professor Slughorn picks up the vial and examines it with a slight shake. He beams. "Perfection! In all my years, I've never known such a natural at potions like you! You and Severus both—naturals!"

Severus Snape, your fellow Slytherin, who also hated you.

The smile on Lily's face slightly falters, and a strange expression crosses her face. It's so quick you almost miss it, but her eyes flicker to a corner in the back of the room. When you catch her eyes, she flushes and immediately launches into a conversation about a higher level potion that she had been trying to perfect in her free time with Professor Slughorn. You drown out the majority of their conversation to focus on putting the finishing touches on your own calming drought. 

"—not at all bad, in fact it's quite good!"

You look up to find Professor Slughorn peering into your cauldron.

"Thank you, Professor." You say cordially.

Your head of house was a portly, jolly man whose blatant favoritism was acknowledged by all. Everybody knew of the infamous Slugclub and how club members were practically guaranteed futures in positions of power. Cunning but spineless. The type that would rather focus on the good rather than the bad—by pretending it didn't exist. 

It wasn't as if you disliked him. After all, he's been nothing but pleasant to you in all your years despite your muggle status.

"Of course, of course." He waves and a chorus of laughter sounds from the front of the room. He pales. "Now excuse me, my dears. I must see what...trouble Mr. Potter and Mr. Black are up to—"

As soon as Slughorn leaves, Lily sours, her lightly dusted freckled face morphing into a scowl. "Potter is such an arrogant toerag. Always disrupting class when some people are just trying to _learn_. How utterly selfish do you have to be?"

You pour the liquid into a vial and fill it up. You don't think it would be wise to point out that Black is the second part of that equation, so you wisely shut your mouth and nod, but Lily doesn't seem to notice, fuming.

Class ends without anymore disturbances. Marlene Mckinnon and Mary Macdonald crane their necks from a couple rows in front of you every few minutes to stare at you and Lily. Then they share a look and turn back to their work. Their scrutiny makes you uncomfortable, but you manage to block it out until class is over, and meet up with Irina to walk to care of magical creatures.

* * *

As you make your way to Madam Pomfrey's you wonder how you'll talk your way out of this one.

You give your hand a little shake, and your two fingers (your pinky and index) sway uselessly, devoid of bone. It's an odd sensation. There's nothing there so it's not as if it hurts.

Luckily, your dominant hand had been left unscathed, but it wasn't as if you could fix it yourself. You didn't have any experience in fixing missing bones, so the only thing you could do was another visit to the infirmary. The three stooges were getting more and more creative. You didn't know whether to be impressed or scared.

You had to admit, the spell work _was_ impeccable.

You just hoped you didn't have to stay overnight. You had a history paper on one of the many goblin wars due next week that you wanted to start on today.

The wing is empty when you enter, save for one bed with the curtains drawn around it. And just as you thought, Madam Pomfrey bristles at your appearance.

She directs you to the bed right next to the occupied one, a reprimanding expression on her face, yet her hands are gentle as they examine your fingers.

"You'll have to stay the night." You inwardly groan. "Tricky business, growing bones back. Stay here." She turns on her heels to her office. On the way, you can hear her mutter, “Two Slytherins...never have I ever...supposed masters of self-preservation…” She disappears into her office and the door swings close.

Immediately, the curtains are yanked away, and a figure in green quidditch robes steps out. It takes you a few seconds, but it's hard not to recognize one of the most popular faces in the Slytherin house.

Regulus Black bristles the moment his eyes land on you. 

There weren't many instances you were in the same room as Regulus Black, or any Slytherins for that matter. Not only was he was in the year below you, there was simply no reason to talk to a person who detested your very being. Whenever you were in the common room, he was always surrounded by the likes of Mulciber, Avery, Snape, and others who would happily cause you grievous harm. 

It's safe to say, you never stuck around long.

Your gaze drops to his bandaged forearm before you can help it.

"Mind your business, mudblood." He snaps, eyes narrowed, and twists his arm away from your sight. There's something so inherently haughty about his movements that it clicks.

The family resemblance is definitely there. His face is more sharper, bonier, but he has the same dark eyes and black hair, but his is clean cut, and so unlike his brother's wilder, tastefully unkempt appearance. At least from what you've seen from the corridors and the classes you shared with the Gryffindors.

They couldn't be more different—as if determined to be polar opposites to distance themselves from each other.

You stay silent as he casts a glance at the closed door of Madam Pomfrey's office, sends you a final glare, and walks out of wing as quickly as possible.

A few minutes pass as you mull over the abrupt interaction with a sort of dry amusement.

The door opens, and Madam Pomfrey steps out with beaker of skele-gro in her hands. She does a double take of the opened curtains, and her mouth drops, outraged. "Why I—" she sputters. "After I specifically told him he needed to—"

She shuts her mouth, face strained with displeasure. She stalks over to your bed and hands you a bottle of skelegro that glows neon green. You grimace at it warily.

"And what brought this on?" Madam Pomfrey asks sharply, daring you to lie. "Another potions mishap?"

You inwardly sigh. Maybe your supposed Slytherin side could cobble together a good enough lie to quell her suspicion. Weren't Slytherins supposed to be good liars?

Irina's voice sounds in your head, an offhanded comment full of teasing amusement.

_You know, you aren't a very good Slytherin._

* * *

**july 22nd, 1973**

"Chocolate frogs."

The gargoyles spring apart and the wall behind them splits open. You enter and make your way to the middle of the room, to the moving, twisting staircase that leads to Dumbledore's office. It had been a while since you had last been here. The past summers, when there was a lull in the monotony, you were occasionally invited for tea so it wasn't as if this were a new experience. The first time had been in your first year. You supposed Dumbledore felt sorry for the poor muggle girl with no family for Christmas.

The hot chocolate had been delicious.

It hadn't been long after the final quidditch match that school had ended. Slytherin had taken the house cup for the year, and the Great Hall had been decorated in the green and silver colors of your house, much to dismay of the three other houses.

Soon after, on the last day of school, Irina made you promise to write to her before she left to board the carriage with all the other students.

And then you were alone.

It feels odd to be alone in such a large castle. You're not sure if the headmaster stays all the time. The teachers had left for the year too, so all you have to occupy yourself are the talking portraits, the house elves, and the non lethal plants in the greenhouse you promised Professor Sprout you would occasionally water. You try to stay out of Filch's way for the most part, especially as he skulks through the halls as you explore the various secret passageways of the castle at night.

Since school is out, there's technically no curfew...right?

By now, you were sure you knew a majority of the more well known secret passages, but you had already resigned yourself to never knowing all of Hogwarts' secret.

Every other day you're out by the lake, reading underneath the shade of one of the many trees, picking out new books in the library, and roaming Hogsmeade. There are the occasional whispers and rumors of He Who Must Not Be Named that casts a cloud of gloom over the village.

This morning, the owl that had dropped your copy of the Daily Prophet brought unsettling news. The house of a ministry official had been set ablaze, all inhabitants killed. 

_Avada Kedavra—the killing curse._

There are no suspects as of yet, but people are nervous. Quick to point fingers. Death Eaters they say in hushed whispers. But there seems to be a collective unspoken agreement to never bring up the one name that strikes fear into the hearts of the populace.

A few seconds later, another owl swooped into the Great Hall to drop a letter in front of your pancakes. You had just gotten a letter from Irina yesterday, and sent her your response that afternoon so you knew it couldn't be her.

To your surprise, it had been Professor Dumbledore inviting you for a cup of tea.

The letter was accompanied by a strange feeling—doubt. You had a sneaking suspicion there was more to it. The timing was too uncanny. Were you in trouble? Maybe Filch _had_ caught you by the statue of Gregory the Smarmy and had gone to Dumbledore.

A slither of nervousness flutters in your stomach.

You rap on the large doors once you reach the top of the staircase, and they open to let you in.

Dumbledore peers at you through his spectacles, and then he smiles warmly. A rush of gratitude fills you for this man. You slightly relax. Maybe you weren't in as much trouble as you thought. There's something about Dumbledore's presence that always makes you feel safe. It's an unusual feeling, letting your guard down, but he had never given you any reason to mistrust him as you did with so many others.

He beckons you to sit down, and you take a seat across from him. 

Fawkes lets out a small chirp, and flies from his perch towards you, and stretches out on your knee. You lightly stroke the phoenix's head, and feel the vibration under your finger as the bird coos.

"Good morning, Professor."

A cup floats and levitates down in front of you, and a teapot follows, tilting and pouring you a cup of tea. Jasmine.

"Ah, a lovely morning is it not? It's a beautiful day to take a dip in the lake..."

Used to your Headmaster's sometimes odd ramblings, you smile wryly as the conversation takes a turn into your headmaster's favorite seasons. When he begins to recount the time he had accidentally fallen into the lake you clear your throat. "Er—Sir?" He pauses, tilting his head in question. "Am I...in trouble?"

Dumbledore chuckles serenely. "Trouble? My dear girl, if there was any student in this school embroiled in mischief, I daresay it wouldn't be you." You meet his gaze, and he stays quiet, knowing there's something more. Waiting for you.

You exhale, fiddling with the edge of your teacup. Maybe this was unwarranted, but the question had lingered in your head since breakfast. The timing was too convenient to be nothing more than just tea and formalities. You try again, albeit hesitantly. "Is this about He Who Must Not Be Named?"

The silence hangs in the air.

Dumbledore simply sighs, a solemn look settling on his lined face. "I was afraid you had already discerned the true meaning of our meeting today." A gentle smile with a knowing look in his eyes. "I know you would prefer the company of our grand library rather than this dusty old office."

You actually adore his office. The mechanical silver machines on his desk spinning to life, the many glass cabinets filled with fascinating objects, and more. You felt that every inch of the room was covered with yet another eccentric object, and that it would take you ages to explore everything. Instead you shrug. "I've been reading the Daily Prophet and...the townspeople in Hogsmeade have been...talking," you say casually, but your mind whirls with the implications.

So you were right. Was this a warning of sorts? The pureblood mania that was alive in your house could prove dangerous to you, so maybe it was fitting that you were called here today. A heads up of sorts.

"They have every reason to be, I'm sure." He replies. "Unrest is brewing, my dear girl. Many believe me to be unaware of the happenings within these walls, but I am not blind. Not yet, at least." His eyes are momentarily mirthful, before undertaking his previous somber expression. "Alas, these are troubled times, and dark forces are amassing. You must understand our greatest strength is in unity...One must never underestimate the strength in camaraderie."

You think...you think you do understand.

"Voldemort is trying to divide us."

Several gasps sound through the room, drawing your attention. The portraits of multiple headmaster eye you warily, whispering amongst themselves. You hadn't meant to, but it slipped out. You never really caught onto the whole He Who Must Not Be Named trend. It really was a mouthful. But after Irina's eyeballs had almost popped out of their sockets the first time you had said Voldemort, she made you promise to never say it ever again. 

Dumbledore appraises you; a shadow of a cunning man flits across his face. "Yes." He admits after a pause. "He will do everything in his power to divide us. A most dangerous foe."

You nod, digesting the information. Before you can ask him just why you're the recipient of this wonderful news, he smiles.

"However, there is more to discuss—including another reason why I called you here today."

You blink. What could be more pressing than discussing a very powerful dark wizard rising to power?

A small box appears in front of you with a wave of his hand.

You stare at it, then look at Dumbledore. Only when he nods encouragingly do you slowly shake off the lid. Inside, your gaze lands on a gleaming silver badge, a P engraved into the middle.

You study the badge, bewildered. "You want... _me_ to be a prefect?"

Slytherin prefects were...people like Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black. Not exactly only Purebloods, but... _important_. If you had to speculate this years prefects it would be Irina, Lily, and maybe Remus. You stare at the shiny badge in front of you. If someone had told you a couple of months ago that you would make prefect, you would have thought they were taking the mickey out of you. Not to mention the fact that there were two fifth year prefects.

You wouldn't be alone. And you really don't want to know the name of your chosen partner.

"I'm—"

A snort comes from your left. "My, have times changed." A voice drawls. You look to the sound, and zero in on one of the many hanging portraits decorating the circular room, covering every inch of free space, depicting an old man with pointed beard and exceptionally shrewd eyes. They rake over you coldly, and you stare back unwaveringly. The man wears green and silver robes. A Slytherin headmaster. "A muggleborn Perfect? You certainly do the most, Dumbledore." He eyes your own green robes, and his face goes pinched. "A muggleborn _Slytherin_ Perfect?"

"Now, now Phineas." Dumbledore replies chidingly, and there's a note of warning. Phineas looks as if he's swallowed something rancid. "I can think of nobody better to represent your house."

You're somewhat touched, but then again, the people in your house weren't exactly exemplary human beings.

"Hm." He scrutinizes you, clearly unconvinced, and then with a swish of his robes, he walks right out of the frame.

Well. That didn't do wonders for your confidence. 

As if sensing your discomfort, Dumbledore says gently, "I'm confident you'll make a wonderful Perfect, my dear. I will, however, not force you."

His words are reassuring enough that you reach out to take the badge. You slide your thumb over the plating, heart thrumming nervously in your chest. It wasn't as if you were nervous about the opinions of others, or the added duties. You didn't mind those.

You just didn't want to disappoint the man in front of you. This man who had always been nothing but kind to a girl who needed it very much. If he thought that you were suited for a job, then who were you to say no? 

"Thank you, sir." You meet his gaze, and Fawkes swoops into the air and lands on Dumbledore's shoulder. "I would love to."

He beams at you, and a pleasant feeling fills you. You feel lighter.

"Now, I would hate to keep you on this lovely day. After all, there are places to explore—books to read." There's a twinkle in his eyes that tells you that he knows exactly what goes on within the walls of Hogwarts. 

You're about to rise, when you pause. Maybe you're interpreting this wrong, but you have to ask. Unity. Division. Happenings within these walls. The dark arts. The group of pseudo death eaters in your house that loved to preach blood purity. And now you're a prefect, with supposed authority over this very group.

Yeah, you think you have a good idea.

"Sir, are you..." Thinking better of it, the words die on your tongue. Dumbledore merely raises an eyebrow, but you have a feeling he knows. "It's nothing."

You need to think. Collect your thoughts. You smile, getting to your feet, badge heavy in your hand. "Have a good day, Professor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter may seem rlly abrupt bc the events in this chapter were suppose to span what? three chapters? and i figured that a lot of y'all (ie, me.) wanted the plot to start so i cut things out and made it into one. rest assured, the next chapter will most likely be longer and the plot will actually!! start.
> 
> about the war timeline, i know it technically 'started' in 1970, but i interpreted a lot of it as fear mongering, and the fact that the war doesn't actually peak until the end of seventh year/graduation. right now i'd say that while ppl know about voldemort, it's mainly rumors and denial. some killings, although not necessarily associated with voldemort (even though he is 100% behind them)
> 
> also i'd like to say one thing about dumbledore: he is one sketchy mf. keep that in mind!!
> 
> and slughorn. my feelings about slughorn are very...neutral. a very hands off character imo, bullying in my house? queue "i do not see" meme here
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading! as always this is unbeta-d  
> hmu @ my tumblr [here!](http://seoafin.tumblr.com)


	4. quattuor

**“Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”**

― Benjamin Franklin

* * *

After much deliberation and sleepless nights you’ve come to the conclusion that Dumbledore wants you to spy on your fellow Slytherins.

The implications are— _worrying_.

* * *

**1975**

**year 5**

"I missed you!" Irina exclaims, her Prefect badge pinned onto her uniform as she pulls you into a hug. You squeeze her back. Students filter into the Great Hall for their next year of Hogwarts, as Professor McGonagall leads the fresh faced first years who gawk at the floating candles and magic in the air. She brightens when her eyes land on your badge. "I knew it'd be you."

You give her a wryly smile. " _I_ was surprised."

She rolls her eyes. "Who else could it have been? You're a model student. Speaking of model students—have you spoken to Macmillan yet? He was looking for you when we arrived."

Your fellow Prefect, Elijah Macmillan. A pureblood. Although he's not one of the bigoted ones. You've spoken to him a handful of times before, and he's always been cordial enough. If anything, he had garnered a reputation for being the uptight sort. You think he has a younger brother in Hufflepuff.

You shrug. "Not yet. He'll find me, I suppose."

Your gaze catches on familiar red hair, and your eyebrows furrow when you see who walks besides her—Severus Snape. They're deep in conversation and Lily doesn't look happy. You see the Prefect badge glinting on her uniform, and behind the two walks in Remus, a scowling James, Peter, and Sirius. Another Prefect badge is fastened onto Remus so it seems your predictions were correct.

Irina follows your line of sight, and rolls her eyes. "Potter and Black let loose a gigantic tarantula on the train. Honestly, those two!" She winces, "The girls screamed my bloody ear off. Lily ended up giving them a long, much needed, public shaming."

You can imagine.

She falls silent, nervously chewing on her lip. Disgust pulses off her in spades.

"What's wrong?" You ask softly.

Her face goes dark. "Watch out for Mulciber. He and his cronies were talking about you in front of the Prefect compartment." Her lips curl in a way that tells you exactly what they had been saying. "Macmillan told them off though—I guess he's not all _that_ bad. A bit of a stickler for the rules though."

You put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "I'll be fine."

Exasperation crosses her face, but before she can respond, someone behind you clears their throat. You turn and see Elijah Macmillan standing, face set into grim lines. He looks the same, his same dark blonde hair neatly styled and light blue eyes. You bid goodbye to Irina who nods to him ( _we'll catch up during patrol duty later_ ), and then she's gone, leaving behind the scent of vanilla.

He appraises you. The first thing that leaves his mouth is, "You'll do."

You stare at him.

At your silence, he straightens. "I'm sure headmaster Dumbledore has given you the rundown of our duties. People say you're a favorite of his." There's an edge to his voice when he says 'favorite'. It almost sounds like suspicion. You feel chastised, as if he's caught you doing something wrong.

You don't feel like a favorite of Dumbledore's. The headmaster is amicable to all Hogwarts students. The thought that Dumbledore had somehow singled you out of many other students had never crossed your mind.

He continues. "It's our responsibility as Prefects to ensure that the year runs as smoothly as possible. We are the representatives of our house, and our behavior reflects upon Slytherin's legacy." He glances around, and his voice drops to a whisper. "You're aware of the...rumors?"

Either he's talking about Voldemort or how a group of your peers have a certain predilection towards the dark arts.

You settle on, "I do."

His face sours. "I refuse to entertain such blatant lies, and I see no reason as to why you should either. These so-called followers of—" his voice lowers, "—he-who-must-not-be-named have no place here at Hogwarts."

"I understand."

He gives you a curt nod. "I'll see you after dinner." And then he turns on his heels and disappears into the throng of students.

There were worse choices. In fact, you didn't mind Macmillan at all.

If Macmillan hated you, it was because you were too inadequate for his tastes which was a much better feeling than being hated for being a mudblood.

You make your way to the Slytherin table, decorated in green and silvers. The hall is loud as students chatter happily. Stares from the table follow you as you take the seat closest to the end of the table and the exit. Josephina, Isabella, and Emmaline stare daggers at you from their end. You're glad that before the whispers can begin, the ceremony starts.

It goes quick enough, the sorting hat is placed upon the heads of the new students and they're sorted into a house. Students cheer when a newcomer is placed in their house, and your skin is buzzing. The newly sorted Slytherins are nervous, but soon enough, dinner commences and excitement and laughter blurs together. You pick at your food. You don't really have an appetite, but you can't leave yet, considering it's your job to supervise and lead the first years to the dormitory.

Immediately, as you finish that thought, someone plops down in the seat across from you, and another takes a seat next to you.

"Mulciber." You say casually. Then as an afterthought, you address the other one. "Avery."

There's another boy, hovering in the back, shifting back and forth on his feet. Tobias Davies. A half-blood. He often hovers, you think. Always in the background, following Mulciber and Avery around. Going along with whatever they say and eagerly doing their bidding.

The only thing that would complete the picture is Snape and the younger Black.

"The mudblood becomes a Prefect," Mulciber crows, eyes narrowing in disgust, but his lips are pulled in an easy smile. To a casual observer, it would seem almost friendly, and the thought is revolting. "How the standards have fallen."

Avery sneers from your side. "They must be allowing anybody to be Prefect these days." His eyes rake over you disdainfully. "Even being a Prefect can't mask the stench of a mudblood."

You weather the insults quietly. Even they wouldn't attempt anything in front of the professors. There's no point in making a scene. Besides, it wasn't as if it were anything you weren't used to.

Shrugging, you meet Mulciber's gaze evenly. "Is that all? I'm not intimidated."

His lips twist, fingers twitching, as if reaching for his wand. "You're awfully bold for a mudblood."

A voice interrupts the conversation. "You're in my seat Mulciber." They say coolly. "You might want to consider moving, I'd hate to make a scene." 

To your (great) surprise, your savior is none other than your roommate, Eva, who you haven't seen since the end of your fourth year. Confused, you look from her to Mulciber, and wonder if this is some elaborate set up to humiliate you.

However, Mulciber bristles. "Didn't your slag of a mother teach you better than to interrupt a conversation?"

A short bark of laughter. It cuts through the noise and draws several stares. "I'd rather have a slag for a mother than a dead one."

Davies tenses, looking from Eva to Mulciber, face white.

There's a sharp intake of breath. Mulciber bares his teeth in a snarl, eyes flashing.

"Careful, Corbyn," Avery snarls, "haven't you heard the news? The only thing worse than a mudblood these days is a blood traitor."

Eva snorts, throwing her long raven hair over her shoulder in one fluid movement. "Don't you two tossers do anything else? Go worship your precious _Voldemort_ and keep your ugly mugs out of my sight."

The word is spat out like a bullet. Davies jumps. Avery pales and Mulciber recoils, the both of them furious.

_"You'll be sorry—"_

"Trembling in my shoes." She says flatly. "Now move."

The hatred in Mulciber's eyes burns as he stands, as does Avery. Voldemort's name must have set him off because all pretenses fall away. "This isn't the end, you'll be sorry." He hisses, and he looks murderous. His hands are pressed against the table as he, along with Avery stands. " _The both of you._ "

The two stalk off, Davies scrambling after them.

You sigh. So much for de-escalation on your part. Although, you aren't sure what exactly Eva had in mind, intervening, you could tell she was enjoying it. There's a smug smile on her face as she slides into the seat previously occupied by Mulciber. 

"So—" she starts cheerily nonchalant, as if the last few minutes had been nothing more than a mild inconvience, and piles a large brisket onto her plate "—how was your summer?"

* * *

Eva Corbyn, your fellow fifth year and Slytherin isn't...that bad.

The two of you haven't spoken a word since the awkward opening ceremony in which Mulciber had publicly declared you both enemies. Eva was usually asleep when you came in during the nights, and gone in the mornings by the time you woke up.

Other than that, you had been waiting for Mulciber's promised retribution, but other than Josephina's usual taunting, there had been nothing but a few hexes and jinxes here and there.

Irina had told you later that Eva's mother, Regina Corbyn, had left her husband—Eva's father over the summer. The ensuing scandal sent shockwaves throughout pureblood society.

The Corbyn name was in tatters which explained the odd conversation and the palpable animosity between the Mulciber, a blood purist, and Eva. You didn't want to pry further so you entertained Eva during dinner and told her about your uneventful summer. When she glanced at your badge, she shrugged and said, "we all expected it."

And that was that.

Arithmancy is as dull as always—math has never been your strong suit, but it's still fascinating so you bear the pain as you try to make sense of the numbers. You're staring blankly at the worksheet in front of you when the girl sitting next to you sniffles for the third time.

You eye her warily. "Is...is everything alright?"

Lily sits up straighter, face streaked with red. "It's nothing!" She exclaims with too much force. You hold her gaze, and she sighs. Then she presses her lips together. I got into a fight with Marlene and Mary."

She looks like she might cry, and you're trying to think of something to say, to comfort her, but your mind is blank. (Unfortunately you're not really good at this sort of thing).

Mentally, you're flailing.

She wipes her face, and luckily, doesn't seem too bothered at your silence. "They don't like Sev— _Snape._ They think he's—he's _dangerous_!"

The name gives you freeze. Severus Snape was in your year, and mostly seen around Mulciber, Avery, and Black, which was more than enough cause for you to keep clear out of his way.

His dark beady eyes were always full of thinly veiled distaste whenever they landed on you, which never failed to send a chill down your spine. He wasn't very popular either, and everyone knew that Snape usually took the brunt of James and Sirius's bullying.

Irina thought he was creepy, and you were inclined to agree.

"I didn't realize you two were...friends."

She huffs out a breath of laughter. "Best friends since childhood." Hesitation flits across her face, and she grips her quill tighter. "Well, we were anyway. I'm not sure if we're friends right now." She completes darkly.

You can't think of two people any more different. Popular Lily Evans, best friends with Severus Snape, with his greasy hair and crooked nose, perpetually hunched over.

It was an odd combination, considering his undisguised dislike for muggles. You've never seen the two together until the opening ceremony. They both did excel in potions, but that was about all the similarities you could draw between them. But you think that if Lily sees something in Snape, then he can't be all that awful, although all the evidence points otherwise.

While Mulciber and Avery usually took every opportunity to taunt you, Snape glowered. You wondered if his recalcitrance had anything to do with the girl next to you with eyes so bright they stared right into your soul.

"They said he's a dark magic fanatic, and I know that Sev's always been somewhat interested in that area of magic...but he'd...he'd never..." she falters, and you know that she's unconvinced. When she speaks again, her voice is resolute. "He's not like them, you know. He's better. And Marlene and Mary have to come to terms with it. They think that all Slytherins are awful people—" she cuts you a look and her face goes bright red. "Oh! I didn't mean—"

"It's fine." You say, not unkindly, and to quickly avoid this very uncomfortable topic, you say. "I'm not very good at giving advice, but I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to you." You can't believe you're saying this, "You should...give him the benefit of doubt."

Your meek advice seems to do wonders. 

Her shoulders sag in relief. "I should, shouldn't I? I'm sure he has a reason for hanging around Mulciber and their lot...He's just...lonely, I suppose. Being in different houses, it's just hard sometimes...and he's been growing distant too." Her lips curve into a wryly smile. "Y'know, he told me I'd make a great Slytherin once." She looks wistful. "A long, long time ago."

"The two of you were fighting."

You didn't realize you spoke until Lily looks at you weirdly. You briefly shut your eyes. "At the opening ceremony."

"Oh." She exhales. "That."

You're about to take it back, but she speaks, frowning. "We fought on the train. He thinks that somehow Potter...ugh—that hefanciesme."

Should you pretend to be surprised?

"It's _absurd!_ " She regains her voice, scowling. "Even if he did, I'd never fancy him back. Imagine how—how big his ego would become! I'd never—I'd rather _die_." The tip of her quill breaks, the splotch of ink growing. "Fuck."

So that's what the two had been arguing over during the opening ceremony.

The two of you settle into the silence until she speaks up again. "Right!" She turns to you, her mood much considerably brightened. "I was wondering if you wanted to join me and the girls at Hogsmeade. I've already spoken to Irina, and she said she'd love to as long as it's fine with you."

Hogsmeade was usually just you and Irina, with Irina being stopped multiple times by her other friends. You liked the quaint little town. Honeydukes was a favorite of yours.

You mouth opens and closes. "Me?"

"Who else?" She teases, and she's back to her normal self, no trace of turmoil left on her face. "It's a good idea! We could all grab butterbeers together, and you could meet Marlene and Mary!"

Those hopeful green eyes pierce you before you can say that you don't think that it's a good idea, and you shift uncomfortably. You're not used to people wanting to be your friend. Your heart is racing.

"Er— sure." You say plainly. 

"Brilliant!"

When she flashes you a smile, your face feels warm. 

* * *

You're starting on Professor Slughorn's potions essay on Felix Felicis in the library when there's a loud enough clamor to your right to draw Madam Pince.

Your gaze lands on a book that had fallen down by your chair and pick it up. It's Hogwarts: A History. And it's worn. The front cover is faded, weathered, and the pages are browning. It's a well loved book—the type you're familiar with.

When you look up to see who you dropped it you pause.

Tobias Davies is on his knees, trying to pick up his scattered papers and books on the floor.

He's a small, scrawny boy whose malicious comments bounce off you easily. He's a follower. A lackey. He's not particularly talented, and he doesn't stand out either, but there's enough pure blood in him that he remains unnoticed. Nothing more than an after thought unless needed.

Today, he's alone.

There are things he's bound to know, hanging around the would-be death eaters. Secrets. Maybe, just maybe you could...

_This your chance._

You take a steadying breath. His hand is trembling when he snatches the book from your outstretched hand.

"Th—thank you." He stumbles out quickly. Then as if thinking better of it, he stacks on, "Mudblood."

His arms tighten around his books, and there's a frown on his face. You can see his hackles rising, but you ignore it.

"I like Hogwarts: a history too." You say. You hope you don't come off as too eager. "It's fascinating, isn't it?"

You know he's a halfblood. Is his mother a muggle? His father? You can feel Tobias's suspicion and distrust prodding at you.

"It is." He says slowly. Swallowing, his gaze darts around the book stacks, as if someone might walk around the corner and see the two of you.

"I like the chapter on the protection wards." You say casually, and it comes out easier than usual because you've read the book in its entirety several times. There are a number of intricate enchantments that encase the school grounds. Each headmaster since the four founders have added at least one additional protection spell to the school during their tenure. 

He relaxes, just slightly, but enough that you think you can worm yourself through his defenses. 

"Two hundred seventy-two," he blurts out. "Th—the number of wards."

Your lips tilt upwards into a small smile because you hadn't expected a response. It's easier than you had originally thought. Common ground. The both of you like books.

Tobias goes red, eyes flitting downwards. 

It isn't trust, but it's not blind hatred either. You think it's step closer to...whatever you're trying to achieve here. You don't exactly have a plan anymore than you have a vague goal in mind: befriend Tobias Davies.

"Do you have a favorite chapter?" You ask before he can pull away. You don't think anyone has ever inquired into his hobbies before because he visibly perks up.

He's less guarded, almost excited when he blurts out, "The chapter on architecture!"

This time your smile is genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought it was fitting to make elijah macmillan a slytherin prefect considering that the macmillan's are related to the black's
> 
> yes the reader is going to be implied bi because i like to add a little spice™ aka gayness. also. girls.
> 
> sorry for the late chapter! I have summer classes, but i'll try to get chapters out more frequently!
> 
> sirius will 100% be in the next chapter!! the plot has f i n a l l y started to move, and i'm so excited to write about what happens next.
> 
> as always this chapter is unbeta-d and subject to change! 
> 
> hmu @ my tumblr [here!](http://seoafin.tumblr.com)


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